Perils of Paranoia Redux
by menolly-au
Summary: This is a rewrite of one of the scenes in the eighth season episode - The Perils of Paranoia to add a little angst to it : Wilson's actions have an unexpected consequence. House & Wilson friendship.


Wilson let himself back into House's apartment and quietly walked over to the bathroom. Just as he had planned - the door was shut, and the door knob was on the ground. House was locked in the bathroom. Outsmarting House wasn't easy, but when he did it the victory was very sweet indeed.

He grinned as he kicked the door knob aside and bent down to peer through the keyhole.

House was looking through the hole at him and after a moment conceded Wilson's triumph.

"Touché."

Wilson smiled to himself as he set to work scanning House's apartment with the metal detector. It wasn't that he particularly cared about whether House had a gun hidden here or not, but it was a good game. He loved engaging House in a battle of wits, and subterfuge, well at least when it wasn't aimed at something he really wanted to keep to himself. House also had a nasty habit of uncovering all of Wilson's secrets, like that stupid porno film he'd made in college. But this was fun and, as screwed up as it might sound, it was a return to normality for both of them. House had won the battle of the boxing tickets; Wilson was going to win the battle of the gun.

Besides, he owed House for the net trick, he'd nearly had a heart attack when that net had closed around him and he'd been swept into the air. And House had been an ass about it of course. House had made him beg to be let down. Locking House in the bathroom for a while was a nice little bit of revenge.

He was in House's bedroom, having just found his tennis racquet, which for some reason had been under House's bed, when he heard the handle on the door that led to the bathroom rattle. Odd, House must be trying the lock, but that would have been the first thing he tried when he found himself locked in, why would he be trying it again? He walked over to the door and stood near it, listening. He thought he heard some other sounds and, puzzled, he called out.

"House? You okay in there?" Who knew what House was up to? He was probably planning his revenge. Maybe he was fashioning some sort of weapon from whatever was in the bathroom, ready to spring it on Wilson when he opened the door.

There was a quiet pause and then House answered, his voice flat. "Let me out of here."

Just that, no snark, negotiations or threats. Wilson frowned and quickly unlocked the door, opening it to find House very close to it. He took a quick look around but saw no traps. House brushed past him, limping quickly into the bedroom, not looking at Wilson.

"Did you find anything?"

Wilson stared at House's back. "No, well I did find my tennis racquet - I can't imagine why you had that."

"Get out then."

"Why, are you scared that if I keep looking I'll find the gun?"

"I don't have a damn gun!" House shouted, turning around to face Wilson. His whole posture was tense, wrong somehow. As if he was angry about being locked in the bathroom, but that didn't make sense. House knew that it was part of the game. He never got angry about practical jokes. Even when Wilson had filed his cane in half he had only laughed. "Get out, or do you want to do a cavity search first?"

Wilson stared at him, confused by the anger. Then he looked at House's hand, it was trembling on the cane, knuckles showing white as he gripped the thing. The words - _cavity search _- echoed in his brain. He glanced at the bathroom, it was small, and he'd locked House into it. House had _told_ him, not long ago,_ I spent a month in solitary_.

He looked again at House and saw the tucked in shirt, he'd worn all his shirts like that since coming back from prison, something he would never have done before. Had it been required while he was in the prison? He saw the bracelet on his wrist, which House had never explained or mentioned, and the bulky outline of the monitor strapped to his ankle. House was still _in_ prison, it was just that there were no iron bars. If Wilson _did_ find a gun, and anyone else found out about it, House could be locked up again. Wilson had told House that it wasn't his problem if House was sent to prison, and it wasn't, but he didn't want it to happen. He'd only just gotten him back.

They hadn't talked about prison at all. Not that House was the type to talk about anything, but Wilson had never asked. He hadn't wanted to think about everything that had happened. When he'd punched House that first day he was back he'd wanted to clear the slate. To put all that behind them. But what if it was something that House couldn't put behind him quite as easily?

"House..." he rubbed at his neck, how could he raise this with his friend? He couldn't ask him, flat out, whether being locked in the bathroom had brought back unpleasant memories. House would never answer honestly.

"I give up," he finally said, throwing his hands into the air theatrically, a gesture of surrender, of conceding the game, "you say you don't own a gun, you don't own one."

House peered at him, almost warily, as if expecting a trap.

"You're giving up an opportunity to prove that I'm a big fat liar? Who are you and what have you done with Wilson?"

"Hey, I've done all I can here, I didn't find a gun. Short of tearing the plaster off the walls I'm going to have to take your word for it."

House was still staring at him suspiciously, and then he slowly nodded. "Could have saved yourself a lot of time if you believed me in the first place. So you admit I win?"

"Yes, you win. You were right."

"Good. Then you're buying the pizza."

"Of course," Wilson sighed. Good thing he'd found his money clip while he was searching House's closet. There was a twenty still left in it by some miracle. House smirked triumphantly and limped towards the door. While his back was turned Wilson kicked the tennis racquet back under the bed. He didn't need it, and apparently House did.

House finished ordering the pizza as Wilson walked into the kitchen. They both grabbed a beer and went to their usual places on the couch in front of the television.

Wilson clinked his beer bottle against House's. "To paranoia."

They both drank deeply and Wilson sighed again as he relaxed into the couch. He rolled his head to the right to look at House.

"You moved it didn't you?

House smiled happily, "Oh, yeah."

End


End file.
